Powers of Persuasion
by Choice
Summary: Or, How Noah Bribed His Way Into Kurt's Pants. Here's some math for you all: Puck, horny to the nth degree, plus Kurt, minus the enthusiasm, equals...?


**Powers of Persuasion (Or, How Noah Bribed His Way Into Kurt's Pants)**

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I wanted to fill a request over at _glee_kink_ for someone who wanted bored!sex. I hope I nailed it. (Ha, punny pun is punny.)

Enjoy!

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It was the end of a long day at work, and Puck couldn't have been happier. He'd been hard as a rock all day, because he kept thinking about Kurt shrieking out his name as he pounded into him from behind. He had glared at his giggling secretary, because if _she _were a dude and _she _had someone like Kurt to fuck into her bed every night… well, she would have what looked to be a grapefruit stuffed into the front of her pants, too.

He accosted his boyfriend at the door when he came home from work that afternoon, not hesitating in attempting to kiss the daylights out of Kurt. Sadly, Kurt wasn't with the program, and Puck was quickly shoved away from him.

"No_ah_, come on. I'm beat!" Kurt sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it in such a way that reminded Puck of bed head. Which made him think of bed, and… Shit, did de-age or something? Because he usually wasn't this horny. He didn't think so, at least.

"Ku_urt_," He mocked, which probably wasn't earning him any points in his favor if the shoe halfheartedly chucked at him was any indication. "C'mon, baby. Since when do you ever refuse a ride on the Puckerman Express?"

"When you call it _that_, you egotistic dick-for-brains," Kurt muttered as he sprawled out on the bed. "Just let me sleep until next week, and I'll be good to go. And maybe some French toast, too." He hummed. "I could go for something syrupy and sweet right now."

"Are you _asking _my brain to come up with images of you covered in maple syrup?" Puck groaned. "Kurt, please?"

"No, Noah. I'm so tired. And if you even think of maple syrup play again, especially on our new Egyptian cotton sheets, I will castrate you myself."

"Yeah, right. You love sex with me too much to do that," Puck crooned, slinking his way up on top of Kurt's still body.

Kurt frowned up at him, completely unimpressed. "Your balls would be better used as doorknockers, I think."

He made a face at his boyfriend. "You're disgusting."

"And _you're_ a pervert."

"What a strange pair we make." Puck slipped his hands underneath Kurt's soft v-neck and rubbed his hipbones-one of Kurt's most sensitized body parts, he knew (from personal experience). "Come on… I won't stop bugging you. At least suck my dick?"

Kurt's eyes were peacefully shut and he looked like he was closer to sleep than arousal. "Mm, bargaining, Noah? You're losing your touch. And go up a little, I've had this stitch in my side since this morning. Impromptu fridge-fucking needs to be a weekends-only kind of deal. And pre-scheduled."

Puck rolled his eyes, but complied and moved his hand upwards. "Doesn't that defeat the whole 'impromptu' part?"

"I guess, but it would be more convenient."

"But spur-of-the-moment sex is hot!" Puck argued. "The thrill of surprise adds to the experience."

"Yeah," Kurt muttered, "I was surprised, alright. I was just reaching down to grab the OJ, and then I was being impaled from behind by two of your ogre-sized fingers."

Puck frowned down at the dozing brunet, removing his hands before Kurt started snoring. Those glasz* eyes opened to pierce him with a petulant glare. "Come on. You were practically asking for it!"

"Oh no, I've been found out-you caught onto my dastardly plans," Kurt deadpanned. "My bending over to get a drink was _clearly _a ploy to be catapulted into the refrigerator. Clearly."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, can we please just fuck… or something? I'm hard as all hell." He lightly ground his erection into Kurt's thigh. The bitch yawned and tried to turn onto his side. "_Kurt!_"

"Noah." He said in a matter-of-fact way that made Puck want to strangle him with his Nancy Reagan-red sweater.

"Come on…" He whined, kissing those lax lips. "Please? Pleasepleasepleaseplea-"

"Shut up, you baby," Kurt grumped. "And what's wrong with taking care of yourself for once?"

"Why would I want to jack off when I have you?" He purred.

Kurt blinked. "Was that supposed to make me feel special or something? If so, you completely missed _that _bull's-eye." He sighed a long-suffering, bone-deep sigh. "Come on, then. Work for it if you _really _want it."

Puck grinned. "Did you know there're two hundred-six bones in the human body?" Kurt gave him an adorably sleepy, befuddled look, which quickly turned into a sour frown when Puck went on, "Do you want another one?"

"…You fail."

"That shirt is very becoming on you. If I were on you, I'd be coming, too." Puck smirked. "I'm not Fred Flintstone, but I can make your bed rock!"

Kurt was holding back a grin by now. "Fail, fail, fail," He sang.

"How 'bout you sit on my lap and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up? No?" He asks a giggling Kurt. "Well, I'm an astronaut and my next mission is to explore Uranus."

"God, stop! Please!" Kurt laughed, shaking his head.

"So does that mean-?"

He sobered up, though a fond smile still stuck to his lips. "Fine, what the hell. But I'm not riding you or anything," Kurt warned. "You want it, you do the work."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He bent down and kissed at Kurt's lips without much fanfare. Where he was sort of driven into a horny frenzy, almost trying to devour that mouth, Kurt was leisurely and lingering; he could only compare it to the soft, feminine-but-not-really body spray that always stuck around the house even after Kurt left for the morning.

Things started out awkward, because usually by now Kurt would rush to yank Puck out of his jeans, but hey, he was alright with actually doing all the work. He was vaguely used to it-Kurt hated to get pruny hands from washing dishes, and he almost sucked up the carpet when he tried to vacuum one time, and… well, Puck usually did all the chores around the house. So this? This was nothing he couldn't dig.

He undressed himself at lightning speed, and Kurt's fingers only lightly toyed with his nipple piercing and traced the outlines of his six pack: he wasn't interested in much foreplay. His actions made it brutally clear how interested he was in the _actual _play, but Puck shrugged it off. Instead, he focused on peeling each piece of Kurt's outfit from that small, lithe body one at a time, and stopped every so often to sit back and stare at what he'd revealed: pale, lanky arms, a prominent collarbone, and feet that were almost hesitantly peppered with light chocolate freckles.

If he were the sappy type to patiently kiss and lick every inch of skin Kurt had, he would. As it was, he was pretty much on autopilot with his dick in the cockpit. He was proud that he didn't laugh-Kurt might have taken it the wrong way-and he inwardly gave himself props for that.

Puck didn't even have to pull back from eating soft lips to get the bottle of lube-it was one of those things that his brain helpfully engraved into his memory. Kurt made a soft noise in the back of his throat when a generously slick finger pressed its way inside of him, and as Puck worked two more digits into that firm ass, he was rewarded with long, contented sighs. He reveled in the faltering of Kurt's breath every now and then, and he fleetingly thought of fingering the man beneath him until he really _was _hot and interested.

"Hon," Kurt said after a quiet moan, "I know I said I was tired, but if you keep hitting my prostate… I _will _come and I'll _definitely _not be in the mood to get you off."

Puck didn't need to be told twice. He quickly prepared himself and pushed into Kurt's loosened, welcoming ass. It didn't take long for him to sheath himself all the way, and soon he had a decent rhythm going.

Kurt came when Puck began speeding up, his face scrunched as he mewled softly. It took him a few seconds to recover, and he opened his beautiful, warm eyes to stare right at Puck as he tried to climax. His breath was coming in short, rasping pants now, and his jaw hurt from how tightly it was clenched.

"Watch," Kurt purred, getting Puck's _full _attention as he trailed his finger in some of his own come, painting the glistening stuff around his pale chest-over his dusty pink nipples, around his navel-before bringing it to his lips and giving his digit a good few laps with his tongue.

"Fuck, Kurt!" Puck hissed through gritted teeth, clenching his fists in the bed sheets as the brunet beneath him began trailing his hands along Puck's tensed biceps.

"Come on, baby," Kurt whispered with a sultry smirk, squeezing at broad shoulders with both hands. "I know you wanna come. Just think about this morning-shoving your fingers in my ass without me knowing you were there. How I screamed when you brought me off…"

Puck came with a cut-off cry, freezing for a split second before slumping down on top of Kurt. He carefully pulled himself out of Kurt, rolling over when the man complained about being crushed. He helped clean up with some Kleenex on the nightstand before relaxing back into soft covers.

"I know it's some kind of taboo to thank someone for sex, but…" Puck sighed, all warm and fuzzy and _finally _relaxed as he pulled Kurt close to him.

Kurt gave him a condescending little pat on the head, like he was a Labrador or something. "You're welcome. So," He said, tickling the back of Puck's neck with his fingertips. "Do I get French toast now?"

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* = 'Glasz' is a color made up of blues, greens, and greys-a perfect description for the beauties that are Kurt/Chis' eyes. It's a Breton term that I discovered by watching Anthony Bourdain travel in the Brittany region of France, a land with many contrasting, ever-changing skies, oceans, and such. It's said that many Breton girls' eye color mimic their surroundings.  
So, um, yeah. You just learned something new(?)!


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